


I Can Live Without You

by Anonymous



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Graduation Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack Zimmermann kisses Eric Bittle after graduation, Eric spends two months thinking that it was the beginning of his happy ending. When it falls apart, he spends the next two years avoiding Jack and then, at the first opportunity, he moves to Seattle, putting an entire country between them. Unfortunately, he has no contingency plan for when Jack gets traded to the Seattle Schooners three years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been kicking around my draft folder for a while, so I thought I'd give it a spin. It's got a lot of feelings stuffed into it, but I swear it has a happy ending.
> 
>  
> 
> I tried really hard on the hockey details, so let me know if I got something wrong!!

_I always talk about love but I’ve_  
_seen a life where I can live without_  
_it, where I can eat with my hands,_  
_make the whole bed, leave the light_  
_on for myself._

—Caitlyn Siehl, Loveless  

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

        His feelings for Jack Zimmermann were an old wound. Still, Eric tried not aggravate it too often.

        It got easier after he left Samwell and New England behind. His mother had been heartbroken when he’d announced he was moving to Seattle, but it was the farthest possible place he could get without jumping continents. He had briefly considered Portland, which was equally far away and as an added bonus had no NHL team at all, but ultimately Seattle won out. There wasn’t any particular reason – Eric didn’t have a job waiting for him and rent seemed expensive, but one place was as good as any other and at least it wasn’t Madison. Or Providence.

        He had made a home for himself pretty easily. He’d never had trouble making friends. For the first month, he lived in a sub-let room with thin walls and strange housemates, but after he’d managed to land a job cashiering at a local bakery, his fortunes had turned for the better. He started skating at a local rink nearby after his usual morning shift at the bakery counter and it wasn’t long before a staff member approached him asking if he’d ever thought about teaching lessons – they had an opening for a beginners’ level coach. Eric figured he didn’t have anything better to do and besides, he could use the money.

        The first year was the hardest. He missed the relative safety of the Haus and the easy access to friends it had given him. He missed the dining hall. He missed talking with Professor Atley. Sometimes, he even missed those stupid geese that wandered the campus. (They had always reminded him of Jack, giving his heart a small, painful squeeze when he saw them.) After that first year was in the books, things started to fall in place. By the time he rounded out his third year in Seattle, Eric had built a respectable life for himself in his new city, full of baking and skating and new friends.

        Still, when he saw the news that Jack Zimmermann was being traded to the Seattle Schooners just in time for the playoffs, his first thought was _Fuck, I’m going to have to move._ He burnt two pies that morning and almost lost his temper on the ice that afternoon, but then he had gone home and cried and cried and gotten over it. Of course he wasn’t going to have to move. Seattle was his home now ( _and besides_ , a small voice inside of him said, _it’s not like Mr. NHL Star is going to be running in the same circles as Eric Bittle anymore_.)

        Ransom had called him that same night and Eric had let it go to voicemail. Holster texted a few minutes later and Eric knew he should answer before they got too worried, but he didn’t have anything to say except “Wow, I really thought I was over him for good this time.” And then Rans would say something like, “Bits, you’re gonna be fine” and Holster would add, “I will gladly kill him before he ever even gets to Seattle.” It probably would have made him feel better, but the thing was, Eric didn’t want to feel better just then and besides, Ransom and Holster didn’t know the whole story. Not exactly. They still thought that it was a one-sided unrequited love that had crushed Eric and left Jack untouched. They didn’t know about the kiss or everything that came after. They had always believed that Jack had led Eric on, but didn't know the full extent of the damage. It wasn’t exactly something that Eric felt he was allowed to share with people, even friends.

        The kind of heartbreak that Jack had inflicted on him was the kind that sometimes demanded to be trotted out, examined and then stuffed back inside. It was the kind of heartbreak that shaken something vital loose inside of Eric in ways that had made it impossible to entirely rebuild. Eric had already lived through the worst of it though; he could weather the aftershocks too. He waited three days before calling Ransom back and when he did, he was able to passably imitate surprise at Ransom's concern.

        "Oh, hun," he'd said. "It's no big deal. That was just a silly crush ages ago."

        He'd almost believed himself.

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

        That September, a large billboard featuring Jack Zimmermann’s face was installed along the route that Eric used every day to get to the bakery. It felt intentional, although all logic said it couldn’t possibly be. All of the more well-known Schooners had billboards around town in an effort to boost ticket sales for the still fairly new expansion team. Jack couldn’t possibly have a say in where his billboards went and plus, he had no idea where Eric worked anyways. Eric started taking a back road detour even though he had to wake up ten minutes earlier every morning. It was easier that way. He hated starting out his days with Jack’s face smiling down at him while he was trapped in traffic.

        In retrospect, he should have been prepared for Shitty Knight to show up at the rink one afternoon. Shitty had moved out to San Francisco the year before with Lardo when she got a job at a gallery there. Eric had even been down to visit them. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Shitty would visit Seattle now that Jack was there too. It was still a bit of a shock to see him there, leaning over the gate as Eric wrapped up his afternoon practice session with a small gaggle of kids.

        “Hey, Bits,” he said as soon as Eric glided over to him. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m here alone.”

        Eric nodded, his smile a little tight on his face.

        “You wanna skate?” Eric asked.

        “Thought you’d never ask.” Shitty grinned and opened the gate to slide himself out onto the ice. They did a few laps around the empty rink before either said anything.

        “So, what brings you to Seattle?” Eric asked, trying not to sigh when he did.

        Shitty knocked his shoulder gently against Eric’s and gave him one of his knowing looks.

        “Jack told me, you know,” Shitty said, looking around them to make sure they were alone before resting his steady gaze back on Eric. Eric toed to a sudden stop, letting Shitty skate on ahead of him for several lengths before Shitty slid to a stop and drifted back over. Eric felt suddenly cold all over despite his many layers.

        “Told you what?” Eric hedged, not wanting to give anything away. Jack could have told Shitty any number of versions of the story. It had been impossible to conceal their sudden falling out and when neither party had given details about it, the rumors had grown pretty wild. None of them had ever really approached the full truth.

        Shitty was giving him a calculating look.

        “It never made sense,” Shitty said, changing tact suddenly. He nudged Eric into skating again and Eric reluctantly took off beside him. “How you two just stopped talking all of a sudden. You would say some bullshit about growing apart and he would just grumble about not having any time, but anyone with eyes could see that something had happened. It drove everyone crazy, you know? You two were so close and then all of a sudden it was like a fucking cold war every time you were in the same room.”

        “It was a long time ago, Shits,” Eric sighed. When he passed the gate this time, he stopped and went through it, throwing himself on the bench to sit down. He didn’t feel like skating anymore. He felt like going home and hiding under a large pile of blankets. “Does it really matter?”

        “Yeah, it fucking matters, Bits,” Shitty said, a little too loudly. Eric cast a quick glance around them, but the bleachers were deserted. It was in between practices and the next group of kids wouldn’t be coming in for at least another hour. Shitty took the hint anyways and lowered his voice. “Sorry, this is coming out all wrong, brah.”

        Eric unlaced his skates and put them away in his waiting duffel. He carefully unwound his scarf and folded it up to put inside before he zipped the duffel back up slowly. Shitty was agitating beside him, his legs vibrating with energy. Eric wished he would stop.

        He stood to leave and Shitty followed him. He waited for Shitty as the other man dropped off the borrowed skates at the front desk and they walked out to the parking lot together.

        “How’d you get here?” Eric asked, frowning at the almost empty parking lot.

        “Lardo dropped me off.”

        Eric made a small noise of recognition and then gestured to his small compact, unlocking it. Shitty climbed in without comment, shifting aside the stack of papers and receipts that littered the front seat.

        Eric didn’t know where they should be going and Shitty made no move to direct him, so he pointed the car towards home. It wasn’t a very long drive, but it felt endless because of the silence that had fallen uneasily between them. Shitty was still all kinetic energy, clearly anxious and eager to talk about it. Eric kept a too-firm grip on the wheel the whole way home until his hands were sore from the pressure.

        “Are you hungry?” he asked as soon as he closed the door of his apartment behind him.

        “Bits, c’mon, you know I’m always hungry for your pies,” Shitty said, rubbing his stomach and heading straight to the kitchen. Eric rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable.

        “Oh, uh…actually, I don’t really have any pie here. I do most my baking at the shop these days,” Eric said. He rummaged around in the fridge and pulled out a casserole he’d made the day before. He tipped it in Shitty’s direction for approval and the man nodded. He plated two servings and stuck them in the microwave to heat, leaning against the counter to wait.

        Shitty waited for the food to be ready before hitting Eric with the hard stuff.

        “You know, he’s been in a bad place since his trade.”

        Eric froze, fork half-way to his mouth. He put down the fork and sighed heavily. It was all he could seem to do that day. Jack’s face, crumpled and fresh with tears, after their Final Four defeat flashed in Eric’s memory and he shoved it back down. He squinted at the calendar on his wall instead, just for something to look at.

        “There’s not a game tonight,” he said as the realization occurred to him.

        “Thursday,” Shitty said, not commenting on how Eric knew the team’s schedule. Eric tapped the counter thoughtfully. It was only Tuesday. Shitty answered his unasked question. “He went home to Montreal all summer after the playoffs and never bothered to find himself an apartment. He’s been living out of a hotel since he got back in town. Lards is picking a place out with him right now.”

        Eric couldn’t help the small huff he let escape. Honestly. Jack had been traded all the way back before playoffs and preseason was starting and he didn’t have an apartment yet?

        “Bits,” Shitty said. “He’s been in a bad place.”

        “How bad?” Eric asked, still staring at the calendar so he wouldn’t have to meet Shitty’s eyes and be subject to their scrutiny. His voice  betrayed him – small and wounded as it was.

        “He could really use a friend.”

        “He’ll make friends on his new team.”

        “You know what I mean.”

        “I do,” Eric agreed. “But I don’t think I’m the right person for the job.”

        “You were best friends once,” Shitty said. He knocked his shoulder against Eric and then threw an arm around him in a side-hug.

        “Shitty,” Eric warned, disentangling himself from the embrace and grabbing their empty plates to take them to the sink. Shitty rubbed his mustache and sighed.

        “Come to the game and see him,” Shitty said. Eric’s heart dropped into his stomach at the suggestion. He had just opened his mouth to refuse when Shitty interrupted. “You don’t have to even talk to him. Just come and sit by me and watch the guy play some fucking hockey like old times.”

        Eric snapped his mouth shut, his lips pursing. Shitty dug into his pocket pulled out his wallet from which he pulled a folded up ticket. He smoothed it on the counter and pushed it over to Eric. Eric stared at the ticket a long time before rolling his eyes and pulling it closer, thumbing the edges.

        “Does that mean you’ll come?” Shitty asked, sounding more like his old self than he had all day.

        “Fine,” Eric agreed.

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

        Eric had anticipated trouble asking off for an early morning shift at the bakery so close to when he needed coverage, but Armando had jumped at the chance to take the shift and Beth, the owner, had shrugged her approval as she counted cash. He didn’t strictly need Friday morning off, but he had had a feeling that he would be drinking heavily on Thursday night to cope with the reality of Jack Zimmermann in close proximity.

        Shitty had promised that he didn’t really have to talk to him, but Eric hadn’t been fooled. He knew that Shitty and Lardo both would find a reason to leave them alone at some point in the night, hoping for a miraculous mending of the fences. Eric wasn’t even sure there were fences left. He spent the two days he had in warning for the experience running through every possible conversation he could think of having with Jack, but none of them were satisfying or even realistic.

        The night of the game he dressed carefully. He didn’t coif his hair or don the Schooners jersey he had bought two years before, instead opting for a casual flannel and jeans with his hair combed, but loose. He didn’t want to look like he had tried too hard to look nice. (He desperately wanted to look nice anyways.)

        Lardo texted him as soon as she and Shitty arrived to pick him up and Eric took his time down the stairs, steeling himself for the night. He wished he had thought to take a shot or two before getting in the car. He almost went back to do just that, but Lardo spotted him.

        “Bitty!” Lardo yelled from across the parking lot. Eric waved to her, glad to see her even if he wished the circumstances were different. He climbed in the backseat of the sleek SUV that Shitty must have rented for the week and let himself feel a small thrill of excitement at the game ahead of them and the promise of spending time with old friends watching hockey.

        The game itself turned out to be the best part of the night.

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

        The Schooners won 2-1 and Jack looked good on the ice, confident and kingly, like always. Eric felt a painful twinge of nostalgia whenever he watched Jack play nowadays, remembering how easy it had been to play with him back in college. Jack had only gotten better, faster, stronger, every year in the NHL and he was indisputably one of the best in the league. It had been a shock when the Falconers had traded him, but the Schooners had needed to plug holes in their line desperately and had offered a king’s ransom to do it. They’d made it farther into the playoffs than anyone had expected after Jack joined them and they were looking good this season too. Jack seemed to be adjusting well enough to the new team, as far as Eric could see. His passes were connecting easily and he had made the first goal and assisted on the second.

        When the game was over, Shitty piled Lardo and Eric back into the SUV and informed them that Jack would have to meet them at the bar since he was on press duty that night. Eric thought about bailing then, seeing the perfect opportunity. He could catch the bus back to his side of town and probably get a cab for the last few blocks. It wouldn’t be so bad. Lardo had met his eyes in the rear-view mirror and quirked an eyebrow in question. He sighed and looked away. He’d already come this far - might as well see it through.

        The bar that Shitty had chosen was a short drive away from the stadium, but far enough that most of the crowds would probably disperse long before they got there. It was the type of place that Jack would probably choose, which Eric suspected he had once they walked inside to find a rustic Western theme interspersed with ridiculously large TVs tuned to five different sports at once. One of the screens was showing highlights from the Schooners game.

        It was another hour before Jack showed up. Eric managed to convince Lardo to take a shot with him, but held off on any other drinks. He didn’t want to get sloppy.

        Eric was the first to spot Jack. He slumped through the door, shoulders hunched against the drizzling rain from outside. Once he was fully inside, Jack pulled off his beanie and shook his hair out before taking his wet coat off as well and throwing it over his arm. Eric watched him without indication, taking the moment to catalogue Jack all over again. He looked so much older than the last time Eric had seen him, but the strong slope of his shoulders was the same. He had changed into a loose-fitting henley and jeans and Eric almost smiled at the thought that three years had done nothing to improve his fashion sense.

        Jack noticed him a moment later and Eric’s face must have shifted because Shitty twisted in his seat and spotted Jack. Eric looked down to his drink hastily, but not before he saw Jack’s frown, his face dark with confusion. Had he not known Eric was coming?

        “Brah!” Shitty cried, jumping up from the booth. “That was a sick goal in the first period. Let me buy you a drink!”

        He thumped Jack so hard on his back that Eric heard it all the way across the bar. Shitty steered Jack to their booth and installed him across from where Eric and Lardo sat before heading over to the bar. Jack had just opened his mouth to say hello when Eric hastily slid himself free of the booth and scurried after Shitty.

        Shitty didn’t comment when Eric slid in beside him at the bar and Eric let out a gust of air in relief. He wasn’t quite as ready as he thought he was to see Jack up close. Shitty ordered drinks for Jack, Lardo and himself and nodded to Eric to get his order in before he slid a card across the table to pay. As they waited, Shitty studied him.

        “Your call, Bits,” he said finally. Eric didn’t need to ask him for clarification. He fiddled with the edge of his shirt, smoothing it down. He looked back over to the table where Jack and Lardo sat across from each other. Jack seemed to feel Eric’s gaze on him and looked up. Eric had spent several years forgetting exactly how undone Jack Zimmermann made him feel when he looked at him like _that_ and he was disappointed to find that he was not nearly as immune as he believed himself to be, even after all this time.

        “Ten minutes?” he asked Shitty.

        Shitty made a noise of agreement right as the bartender slid their drinks across to them. When they got back to the table, Shitty didn’t bother sitting down. He crooked a finger at Lardo and nodded towards the pool table in the far corner of the bar.

        “Babe, I think that magnificent beast of a pool table is calling our name,” he said. Lardo grinned and threw a quick, apologetic glance to Eric before sliding out of the booth.

        “Subtle,” Eric said snidely to their retreating backs. Shitty waved over his shoulder and Lardo threw him another grin. A moment later his phone buzzed with a text from her.

**[FROM: Lardo]**

_Just give me a ~look~ if you need rescuing._

 

        He pushed his phone aside and leveled a glare at her across the room. She waved before turning to the pool table.

        Jack nursed a beer across the table from him, frowning down into the pint glass.

        It occurred to Eric that it was the first time they’d been alone together in almost four and a half years and it didn’t make him feel any better about the night. He cleared his throat and blinked away the traitorous tears that had been lingering in his eyes since he'd caught a glimpse of Jack's frown a few minutes before.

        Eric screwed up his face in determination and chose one of the many things he had imagined saying to Jack.

        “Sometimes…” he said and then stopped, losing his courage for a second as Jack jerked his head up. His eyes so big and blue that Eric faltered under their intensity. He swallowed and took a swing of his cocktail before continuing. “I see something on TV or twitter and my first thought is, ‘Wow, I gotta tell Jack’ and then I realize that I can’t because we’re not even friends anymore.”

        Jack’s face was a careful mask across from him.

        “You could,” Jack said, at length. He was looking at Eric in the same steady, earnest way he used to and it was squeezing the life right out of Eric. Eric took a deep, steadying breath and looked away, towards the door. He should have gone when he had the chance. He was already messing this conversation up, the words not coming out quite right.

        “No, I couldn’t,” Eric said, thankful for the firmness in his own voice.

        “Bitty --” Jack said.

        “Please don’t call me that,” Eric interrupted sharply. He looked back to Jack just as the hit landed and saw his face crumple. Eric refused to feel badly about it. He refused to notice the way Jack’s eyes drooped around the edges, sadder than he’d ever seen them.

        “Bittle,” Jack tried.

        Eric shook his head.

        “Just Eric is fine,” he said with the same firm tone, although he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded. He hadn’t planned this beforehand, but it felt right. It felt safe. Jack had never used his given name before. It didn’t have any weight between them. So much better Bittle. Than _Bitty_.

        Jack looked shell-shocked across the table from him. Eric looked away.

        “I told them that you wouldn’t want to come,” Jack offered at last. “I didn’t want them to bother you.”

        Eric bit down hard on his lip. He exhaled loudly and sat back in the booth.

        “It was gonna happen anyways,” he said and looked to meet Jack’s searching gaze. “Might as well rip the band-aid off.”

        “Yeah,” Jack said softly. “I guess.”

        An awkward silence fell between them. Eric played with the stem of his cocktail, twirling the glass back and forth. He had drained it by the time he found something else to say.

        “Are you liking Seattle?” he asked. “Did Lardo pick out an apartment for you?”

        Jack scoffed a laugh at him, but it didn’t have any real heat, just obvious disbelief. Eric couldn’t bring himself to look at Jack again, couldn’t bring himself to admit that he had no idea what to even ask Jack about anymore.    

        “Uh, yeah,” Jack said. “I guess so.”

        Eric wasn’t sure which question he was answering and didn’t try to clarify. He sighed and looked over to the pool table. Lardo was perched on one of the bar stools and caught his eyes. She nodded and slid off before pushing Shitty’s shoulder in signal and making her way back over to the table. Jack frowned across the table, obviously catching the gesture and Eric winced, despite himself.

        He slid himself out of the booth and intercepted Lardo, steering her towards the bar while waving Shitty back to the table. Shitty frowned, looking between Jack and Eric, obviously disappointed in what he saw. Eric wasn’t sure what he honestly expected. They hadn’t seen each other in almost three years, hadn't spoken in four and it had been even longer since they were friends.

        Lardo didn’t ask him how it went and Eric was reminded of how much he missed her quiet brand of friendship. She had taken his side in the whole fiasco years ago without any explanation on his part and had never looked back. He knew she had gone to bat with Shitty about it several times. She paid for his drink at the bar and stood there as he downed it in three large gulps and then bought him another, rubbing his back in consolation.    

        “Lardo,” he moaned. “I don’t want to be here.”

        “We can leave,” she promised, taking his arm and patting it gently. She glanced back to where the other two men were sitting and her face went strangely still, then she frowned. Eric followed her gaze in question and felt his own brow furrow.

        Jack’s face, slack with distress, was upturned to one of the TVs behind Shitty and Eric twisted sideways to see what Jack was gaping at. Kent Parson was smirking back at him from behind the desk of one of the ESPN shows that seemed interchangeable to Eric. Eric frowned.

        “Lord, I was really looking forward to seeing less of him,” Eric grumbled. His head was starting to get fuzzy around the edges from the two and a half drinks he had consumed in a very short period of time.

        It had been a welcome surprise to Eric when Kent Parson announced his early retirement last year, but not completely out of left field after the nasty PCL injury he’d sustained the season before and the rough recovery afterwards. In all, eleven seasons in the NHL and one of the best track records in the league was nothing to scoff at. Still, Eric’s stomach twisted angrily every time Kent’s face appeared on his TV. He had never gotten over the Epikegster incident.

        He looked back over to Jack now, but Jack was still frozen in place, watching the TV. His head was tilted to the side, one hand still hovering at the side of his beer. Lardo exchanged a glance with Eric and shrugged. They both turned back to the TV just in time to see it happen, subtitles scrolling lazily across the screen: KENT PARSON, NEW SPOKESPERSON FOR 'YOU CAN PLAY', COMES OUT AS GAY.

        “Lord,” Eric swore. “Now I really wanna go home.”

        Lardo nodded furiously beside him, her fingers digging into his bicep from gripping too hard. Eric didn’t mind, it helped ground him from the feeling that the floor was literally opening up beneath them. Vaguely, he recognized that the loud voice swearing was Shitty’s, but he couldn’t make out the words. His head felt heavy and thick. He stared at Jack, but Jack was transfixed by the TV.

        He didn’t remember leaving the bar itself, but Lardo must have steered him out of the building after grabbing the keys from Shitty. Eric had never had an honest-to-God panic attack before, but he could still remember the feeling of a hard check, breath leaving his body, the hard ice colliding with his body. That’s what this felt like. He was faintly aware of the ridiculousness of the whole thing - he should be _happy_. Kent Parson had just come out as the first openly gay NHL player, retired or not. But he wasn’t happy, he was worried.

        “Is Shitty staying with Jack?” was his first question after he had gathered enough wits to ask anything. Lardo’s hands were gripping the steering wheel in a death vice, her mouth set grimly.

        “Of course, Bits,” she said. “He’ll make sure Jack’s okay.”

        “We probably shouldn’t have left,” Eric moaned, leaning his forehead against the window. He felt a little sick and the cool glass was helping him hold the nausea at bay.

        “We were on our way out anyway,” Lardo said, grinding out the words. She reached across the console and grabbed Eric’s hand so hard he thought she might crush some of his bones. He held on just as hard until they pulled up to his apartment complex twenty minutes later. Lardo stared up at the squat building that he lived in and frowned over at Eric. “I was going to take you to get fro-yo and listen to you complain all night. I’m guessing you don’t want to do that anymore?”

        Eric shook his head. He closed his eyes - Kent Parson’s smirking face still burned on the back of his retinas. God, why in the world would he choose half-way through pre-season to break this kind of news? Did the man have the worst publicist ever or was he just an idiot? This would be in the news cycle for weeks now that the NHL was gearing back up for the regular season. If he had sprung the news last month, no one would have cared.

        “Jack is gonna be a wreck,” Eric said, wringing his hands together. He still hadn’t unbuckled himself. Lardo was bathed in the sickly glow of streetlamps dimmed by a halo of rain, giving the whole scene a sense of melodrama that Eric didn’t think was particularly necessary. He felt plenty melodramatic without the weather. He thought of Jack back in the bar and it occurred to him that Jack had been bracing for the hit before Kent had ever opened his mouth. “Did he know? Do you think he knew this was happening?”

    “I’m not sure, Bits,” Lardo said. She started the car again, the engine purring to life. “Come on, I changed my mind. We’re getting ice cream.”

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

        A few days later, when Deadspin published the first of the leaked pictures of Kent and Jack in the Q looking a little more than friendly, Eric almost picked up the phone to call Jack. To check on him. To tell him that everything would be fine. His fingers hovered over the contact in his phone for ages before he decided against it. He called Shitty instead.

        “Bitty? Brah, it’s two in the morning, what’s up?” Shitty mumbled on the end of the line.

        “Sorry, Shits.” Eric glanced at the clock on his nightstand, confirming the time. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. “Have you seen?”

        “Seen what?” Shitty was noticeably more awake now and Bitty could hear a faucet running in the background.

        “Deadspin,” he said simply.

        “ _Fuck_ ,” Shitty swore. “Is it bad?”

        “It could be worse,” he said. “Can you let me know if he’s okay?”

        “Bits,” Shitty sighed. “You can call him too.”

        Eric paused for a long moment, his fingernails pressing into the bare skin of his knee. He still felt guilty about leaving Jack and Shitty at bar that night, but Lardo had insisted that it wasn’t fair for him to feel that way. He didn’t have any obligation to Jack’s emotions anymore, she had said, sounding remarkably like Shitty when she did so. He had agreed, if only to assuage her concerns about himself. Still, he hadn’t slept well since, on pins and needles for exactly the kind of article that Deadspin had leaked a few hours before. The pictures weren't exactly incriminating, but the internet didn't need much to go on.

        “Shitty,” he said finally. “Just let me know, okay?”

        He hung up.

   


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Jack run into each other at a charity gala fundraiser and then Jack shows up uninvited at Eric's work to continue their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: Bitty makes some emotionally irresponsible choices in this chapter and there are tears. DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU.

    It took about a month for Shitty to stop trying to convince Eric to call Jack. After that, things went back to almost normal. Eric started driving his regular route to work again, ignoring the billboard of Jack’s face as best he could and he watched the news at night, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t watching for Jack’s name.

    The pictures on Deadspin weeks ago had almost given him a heart-attack the first time he’d looked at them - featuring several pictures of a very drunk young Jack and Kent hugging and then two of them at a game with Kent draped in Jack’s lap and Jack saying something into his ear. They all had a suggestion of intimacy that was hard to deny, but somehow they hadn’t landed in the way Eric (or Deadspin) anticipated. It had been all “Awww poor Kent and his crush on JZimms” and barely any “Jack Zimmermann is gay!!”. It was actually almost amazing the lengths that people had gone to in order to paint it as some weird unrequited crush on Kent Parson’s part, because Jack Zimmermann, son of Bad Bob and NHL prodigy, couldn’t also be gay. Lightning only strikes once and all that. Someone on Buzzfeed had even published an article that was titled “Kent Parson Sitting in Other Players’ Laps” and it had gone viral, even gaining a reference from Kent himself when the retired player had gone on Ellen and perched himself in her lap.

    When it came up in the first few post-game interviews that Jack did after Kent’s announcement, Jack gave a practiced statement of support that carefully side-stepped the question that no one was actually asking him. It made Eric want to scream, but in reality, he just banged around his kitchen instead, cooking dinner a little too aggressively on those nights. It wasn’t that Eric was expecting Jack to come out - he’d made it perfectly clear years ago that he had no intentions of doing so and Eric didn’t see why that would change any time soon. It was just...every time someone didn’t ask Jack the question or assumed that Kent had a one-sided crush on Jack, it was like they were pressing on a bruise that Eric had forgotten about until right that moment.

    Kent Parson, for his part, seemed to revel in the attention that came with being the first openly gay NHL player, even if he was retired. His face was everywhere overnight and soundbites of his voice were on an almost constant loop for weeks. For the most part, the coverage was positive, feel-good pieces, but there was a darker, uglier side to the coverage too. Eric tried to avoid the comment sections of any articles he came across. He turned tail more than once when a restaurant had Fox News on in the corner. ESPN was risky - it could go either way, depending on who was sitting at the desk. Eric wanted to be happy for Kent, but there was a heavy stone of resentment in his stomach whenever a well-meaning friend sent him an article or link about the whole thing.

    He wondered how Jack was really dealing with it. Shitty had been tight-lipped beyond “he could use a friend” and Eric didn’t push. It should have been enough to know that Jack wasn’t coping with pills or worse, but it wasn’t. Eric wanted to know how Jack was _feeling_ , not just how he was doing.

    It was driving him to near distraction, but no one seemed to notice except for himself. He supposed that was the benefit of living so far away from people who had witnessed the trainwreck happen firsthand. It was easier to convince them that he was fine.

    When Sherry, the rink manager at Reynolds where Eric coached beginners’ classes three times a week, sat down on the bench next to him after practice one afternoon, Eric could tell by the serious look in her eyes that they were about to have a talk of some sort. He wondered then if it is was finally obvious how _off_ he had been ever since the Schooners game. Sherry was hard for Eric to read on her best days - she didn’t respond to Eric’s particular brand of Southern charm and when he’d first started, she had frowned at him more often than not. Over the last few years, he’d gotten more accustomed to the unsmiling, non-tactile brand of friendship that most Seattle residents offered, but Sherry was still largely a mystery to him. The happiest he’d ever seen her was when he brought two cherry pies to Reynolds for her daughter’s birthday last year.  He tucked his skates into his bag and they waited together while the ice cleared and students waved goodbye.

    “Trevor quit yesterday morning,” Sherry said quietly, as soon as they were alone. Eric was taken aback by the news, but tried to keep his face neutral. Trevor had been the assistant manager at the rink and handled all of the class schedules - he had been the one who gave Eric a job in the first place.

    “Oh, I hadn’t heard,” Eric said.

    Sherry pursed her lips and nodded. Eric thought that might be the extent of the conversation for a moment, but then she stuffed her hands in her pockets and gave him a once-over.

    “I don’t know how much that bakery is paying you,” she said. “But the assistant manager gig comes with benefits and set hours.”

    “Me?” Eric squeaked.

    “If you want it,” Sherry said. When he didn’t move, she patted him on the arm. It was possibly the most affectionate thing she’d ever done to Eric. He felt a little dizzy. “Let me know by Thursday.”

    “Thursday,” he repeated back weakly.

    He was still sitting on the bench five minutes later when his phone dinged with an email from Sherry with a full job description. The proffered salary almost made him nauseous. He had been scraping by just fine between his two jobs and YouTube revenue, but that kind of money would mean he could definitely quit the bakery. He just didn’t know if he wanted to. He had been so excited when he first got the job, even though it had started as just a counter service position. He had eventually worked his way back into the kitchen and started baking.

    Baking and getting paid to do it was supposed to be the dream, but most days it left Eric drained and crabby. It didn’t help that he didn’t care for any of his co-workers there either. All in all, the bakery job was less a dream and more an unfortunate necessity of life.

    When he got home, he called his mother.

    “Would you have more time to yourself?” she asked after Eric described his conundrum.

    “Yeah, I think so. Probably more late nights, but there would be a consistent schedule,” Eric said. “No more shifts and Lord knows, I could use the morning to sleep in.”

    “I think you should do it,” Suzanne said firmly. Her face was pinched in thought on the computer screen. “I know it’s not what you always dreamed for yourself, but you always seem happy when you talk about that rink and I hate to think about you shuttling back and forth between two jobs all the time. It’s exhausting, baby.”

    Eric had no argument ready for her. She was saying everything he had already thought to himself earlier, but it comforted him to hear her say it. He wasn’t losing his mind if he chose the rink over the bakery. They talked for another hour about everything else they could think of - Eric’s valiant, but dying car, his new, tiny apartment that cost too much but at least didn’t come with a roommate, and a disastrous date he’d been on but forgotten to tell her about earlier. They were wrapping up when Suzanne asked, hitting him right after he’d finished laughing about a guy who had shown up to their first date in a hoodie and expected Eric to be impressed.

    “And Jack?” Suzanne said gently. In a moment of unguarded honesty, Eric felt himself flinch, but then he swallowed and forced himself to meet Suzanne’s eyes.

    “I haven’t seen him since the game, Mama,” he promised.

    “Good,” Suzanne said. She had been almost livid when Eric had let slip that he was going to the game in the first place and Eric suspected that she thought Jack had somehow engineered his trade to Seattle just to chase Eric or something, even though he had patiently explained that that was not how mid-season trades worked.

    He hung up with her soon afterwards and spent the rest of the day wrapped up in blankets watching the Food Network. He kept opening the email from Sherry and reading it before throwing his phone across the couch again. His conversation with his mother had been comforting, but had left him with unintended hangover of  jitters about Jack.

    To her everlasting credit, Suzanne Bittle had fiercely embraced Eric’s coming out, even though it had not gone quite the way he had always planned it in his head. He had always imagined addressing his parents bravely at the kitchen table one morning and being proud of himself for doing it. Instead, he had been a pathetic, tearful mess that Suzanne had to scrape off the kitchen floor after too many attempts at making a pie filling that just would not _come together_. It hadn’t taken much detective work on her part to come to the conclusion that Eric had just experienced his first real heartbreak and when the name Jack had somehow slipped through the tears, well, she didn’t bat an eyelash - she just hugged him even tighter.

    It had been the worst year of his life and his mother had lived through it with him.

    It had started out perfect. Jack Zimmermann had kissed him after an agonizing semester of not-quite flirting and not-quite touching. Jack had even confessed his feeling for Eric later that same day and it had seemed like everything was _starting_ all of a sudden. For the next two months, they talked constantly - Skyping, texting, small in-jokes on the team chat - and everything had been perfect. They made plans for Jack to visit Madison and Eric had counted down the days on his calendar, driving to the airport three hours too early out of anticipation of seeing Jack again. He had waited another two hours on top of that, searching the crowds for Jack and double-checking his phone for dates and times when Jack did not appear.

    When he had finally come home (six hours and 8 unanswered calls later), he told his parents that Jack had missed his flight and was trying to see if he could catch a different one, but might not be able to make it after all. Eric kept calling, but Jack didn’t answer until late that night (call #26).

    As soon as the line picked up, Eric had rushed to ask if he was okay and the line was silent except for Jack’s heavy breathing, a sound that Eric was well-acquainted with after months of talking on the phone with him late at night.

    “Jack?” he’d asked.

    “Bits, I’m so sorry,” Jack had said after a long time of unsteady breathing on his side of the line. “I got to the airport and someone recognized me and I just…couldn’t.”

    In the years that followed that conversation, Eric had tried to pinpoint the moment that he knew Jack wasn’t coming. Sometimes, he convinced himself that he knew on the drive home from the airport, but that wasn’t quite right. The story he concocted for his parents had been in part to convince himself as well that some kind of misunderstanding had caused Jack to miss the flight and he would be there soon. Other times, he thought maybe he knew after the 10th unanswered call or maybe the moment Jack answered on the 26th one and he didn’t say anything for a full minute. But maybe it had really been two weeks later, when Jack had asked for some space to “figure things out”. Eric had held onto hope long after that, but in hindsight, it was all over from the moment that Jack didn’t get on that plane to Atlanta.

    Eric had spent the first semester of his Junior year hoping that Jack would come around. He had taken every opportunity that came up to visit or to steal private moments at parties and after games that Jack came to, but whatever spark had been between them after graduation had been guttered by the events of the summer and neither one of them could coax it back to life. It had been that Winter Break that Suzanne Bittle had found Eric collapsed in the kitchen, half-drunk on his own tears and surrounded by a disaster of a pie attempt. He had just gotten off the phone with Jack and they had agreed to not see each other anymore. It had been a long time coming. It had felt like the end of the world.

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

    In the end, quitting his job at the bakery felt almost like a non-event. Beth, the bakery owner had blinked at him when he’d first announced his two weeks notice, but had never bothered to counter the offer either, so Eric took it as a sign. He fell into his new role at Reynolds with gusto, helped along by the piles of work and responsibility that Sherry was glad to give him. He had to give up two of his classes, but still taught one beginners’ level skate class and monitored the daily free skates on the ice, so it didn’t feel like too much of a sacrifice.

    “There’s going to be a fundraiser in a few weeks to help raise money for the youth hockey rec league,” Sherry told him a few weeks after he started. “It’ll be at the Hyatt downtown. The Schooners are going to auction off some tables with the players and a couple of other local celebrities will make an appearance..”

    “Oh...that’s great,” Eric said.

    Sherry tilted her head a bit to the side.

    “We have two comp tickets,” she said. “I figured since you’re the former hockey player on staff and all, you should come.”

    “I -” Eric started to protest. It felt a little unfair to cast him as a former hockey player when he taught toe loops on a weekly basis. He hadn’t actually played hockey since college - the youth league had been trying to drum up enough interest for a team at Reynolds, but so far had failed to draft enough players or get enough funding.

    “No point,” Sherry cut him off. “The husband already said he wouldn’t go - he’s a stalwart Canucks fan, y’know - and there’s no convincing Mollie to do anything. You’re the last one standing and the new kid on the block, so you’re in.”

    “I’ve worked here for three years!” Eric sputtered.

    Sherry laughed, a short, clipped sound, and clapped Eric on the back.

    “Coaching a few classes doesn’t count in terms of pecking order,” she said. “Sorry, kid. Anyways, I thought you’d be pleased. Didn’t you used to play with that Zimmermann guy?”

    Eric was dumbfounded. He didn’t remember ever mentioning Jack around the rink before, but he supposed it wasn’t that hard to connect the dots, especially since Seattle-area news stations had been hashing out Jack’s life story ad nauseum after every game recently. Sherry seemed to catch his confusion. She winked at him.

    “The kids talk about it all the time,” she explained and then effecting a falsetto, “Did you know that Coach Bittle played with _the_ Jack Zimmermann in college? I wonder if he can introduce us.”

    “Lord,” Eric muttered. “Bunch of gossips.”

    Sherry shrugged.

    “It’s three weeks from now,” she said unsympathetically. “I’ll email you your ticket and we can make plans later.”

  


_/ _/ _/ _/

  


    Three weeks gave Eric plenty of time to obsess over seeing Jack again. The Schooners were having a good season, but despite their PR push and endless puff pieces on the players, Seattle didn’t seem keen to embrace their team. It made tickets relatively cheap and easy enough to get, which was a fact that Eric had enjoyed before Jack had been traded, but now resented. It also made the Schooners players particularly active in the community, trying to endear themselves to their new home, hence the charity gala for the local youth hockey league.

    The night of the event, Sherry got to his apartment early and Eric let her in while he finished getting ready. She was easy enough to distract with a piece of pie, so Eric was fairly sure she wouldn’t have much time to snoop around his cluttered apartment. He hurried to finish combing his hair into the perfect wave - he had just gotten a trim earlier in the day so he would be ready for the party. It was one thing to look casual at a hockey game; it was an entirely different story to go to a charity gala. ( _Eat your heart out, Jack Zimmermann_ , he thought as he put the finishing touches on his look for the night.)

    Once they got to the Hyatt, Eric let Sherry take charge of him, steering him to the table and introducing him to her friends in the local skating community. Some of them he already knew from other events and some of them he knew from the handful of youth hockey league events he had gone to. A few of the younger kids who worked at the rink were part of the group pushing for a team at Reynolds, so he had chaperoned them to a few games across town last year. Only a handful of the Schooners seemed to be in attendance that early in the night, but Eric couldn’t stop scanning the room for Jack. He had agonized over whether or not to warn Jack that he would be there, but eventually he had let it rest. He wasn’t even entirely sure if Jack would be there, after all.

    Jack and several other Schooners made it just in time for the first speech of the night. Eric sank into his seat at the sight of him, tailored and perfect in a dark blue suit that made his eyes appear especially light. Most of the tables up at the front of the ballroom had at least one or two players installed at them, but Eric and Sherry and many of the other local skating staff and coaches were stuffed at the back tables.

    “The cheap seats,” Sherry had said when they arrived, winking at him. It gave Eric the advantage - he was easily lost in the crowd of people and nowhere near Jack for most of the night. A few of the other players made the rounds to the back, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, but Jack had been stuck up front since he arrived, surrounded by the sparkling elite who were bankrolling the gala. Eric kept one eye on Jack the whole night, waiting for an opening.

    It came late in the night and Eric almost missed it. He had been drawn into a conversation about the latest Figure Skating Nationals team prospects and when he looked up, Jack had disappeared. Then, a second later, a door to the outside hallway closed in his peripheral vision and Eric caught a hint of the dark blue suit with it. He waited a moment before excusing himself, setting his drink down on a nearby table and walking casually out to the hall.

    It wasn’t hard to find Jack. All Eric had to do was follow the hallway around a bend and there he was, sitting on a brocade bench, staring at the wall. Eric paused for a moment in the open hallway, looking around them for anyone else, but aside from the party sounds leaking into the hallway from the ballroom, it was quiet. Jack didn’t notice Eric until he was almost next to him.

    “Hey, handsome,” Eric said drily. “Come here often?”

    “Bits?” Jack asked. Then, brow furrowing, he corrected himself. “Eric. I didn’t know you were here.”

    “I am,” Eric said. He bit the inside of his cheek, searching for something else to say, but drew blood instead. Jack was giving him a bottomless look and Eric didn’t know what else to do except allow him to look. After what felt like ages, Jack scooted over on the bench, giving Eric room to sit down instead of stand awkwardly over him. Eric hesitated a split second before taking the spot, but did, his arm brushing Jack’s as he sat down.

    “How’re things?” Eric asked. His hands itched for something to do, so he worried with his cufflinks, spinning them in place. He could feel Jack watching him, the weight of his gaze a burning awareness.

    “It’s...been a lot,” Jack said haltingly. Eric looked up from his sleeve to see Jack frowning. He was struck again by how sad Jack looked these days. It made him want to reach out and trace the frown on Jack’s face, but he didn’t. He kept his hands firmly gripping the cool metal of his cufflink instead, twisting and turning it around.

    “I always hated Kent Parson,” Eric said. He felt a miserable satisfaction at the small smile that touched Jack’s lips for a second before disappearing back into that frown.

    “You’re a little biased,” Jack said.  “You only ever saw his bad side.”

    “Does he have a good one?” Eric snapped unkindly. He was thinking of Kent Parson, the man who crashed parties and triggered anxiety attacks in friends and it wasn’t a particularly heartwarming character portrayal.

    Jack chuckled, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He very gently put his hand on Eric’s to still his movement and Eric allowed it, watching as he took his hand back when Eric stopped. Jack folded his hands back on his own lap and leaned a little closer, his voice low so that only Eric could hear as if there were other people all around them instead of an empty hallway.

    “He didn’t know that it would happen that way,” Jack said. “With the pictures and everything.”

    “That’s very generous of you, Jack,” Eric said and then winced at the acid that dripped from every word. He bit his lip hard to keep himself from saying anything else. Jack cleared his throat, but let the silence fall uncomfortably between them. When Eric managed to sneak a glance up at him, he found Jack already looking back.

    “So you did know he was going to, then?” Eric asked. “I thought...it looked like maybe you did. That night, I mean.”

    Jack grimaced and flexed his hands before clasping them back together. If Eric hadn’t been so close, he might have missed the faint tremor in them. He bit his lip even harder, chewing on it until it hurt as he waited for Jack to answer.

    “He asked me to do it with him,” Jack said in a whisper. Eric caught his breath and Jack looked at him steadily. “Last year. The Aces legal team vetoed it. So, I didn’t know he was doing it right then, but I guess it wasn’t a surprise.”

    If Eric hadn’t been sitting down, he might have fallen over. Jack was still staring intensely at him, refusing to break eye contact and Eric felt transfixed, replaying _He asked me to do it with him_ over and over again. It had a crushing effect on his heart.

    “What did the Falconers say?” Eric asked in a moment of stupid bravery. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t. Wouldn’t be able to think of anything but asking it. Jack licked his lips and finally looked away, giving Eric a moment to notice the slight flush on the back of his neck.

    “I’m not their problem anymore, eh?” Jack said after a long pause. Eric wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected, but it wasn’t that. It hit him like a vicious right hook to the jaw and he swallowed a wave of nausea.

    “Were you…?” Eric didn’t know how to finish his question. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask. _Were you out to your team? Were you really going to come out with Kent?_ or the nastiest question of all, the one that had crawled under his skin a moment before, _Were you traded because you wanted to come out?_

    Jack seemed to read at least some of them on his face. He’d always been good at that.

    “I hadn’t made a decision,” Jack said. “Then when Parse decided to retire, things were different anyways.”

    “Right,” Eric agreed weakly. He shook himself, digging his fingers into his thighs. “So, what? Doing it in the middle of preseason was just some big fuck you to the Aces?”

    Jack smiled tightly.

    “That’s Parse,” he said, as if that explained everything. Eric’s mouth twisted into a deep frown. Jack knocked his knee against Eric and the touch startled Eric so much that he blinked up at Jack in shock. “He doesn’t always think everything through to the end.”

    Eric snorted in response.

    “That seems like an understatement,” he sniffed.

    Jack’s smile become just a little bit looser. Eric knew he was being more than a little unfair. He’d really only met Kent the one time, but Eric had had a long time nourish his grudge and little incentive not to. He had always had a petty streak, when it really came down to it.

    “Zimmermann! You son of a bitch!” A loud voice yelled from behind them, startling both Jack and Eric apart. A giant of a man lumbered towards them in the wide hallway and clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “C’mon, no hiding. The old ladies of Seattle want you to come kiss their cheeks and tell them how pretty they are before they write their checks.”

    Jack shot Eric a small, apologetic look before standing up. Eric followed suit, smoothing his shirt down for something to do.

    “Hey, Lalls,” Jack said to the huge man and Eric recognized him then as Ben Laller, one of the Schooner’s D-men. “This is Eric Bittle, he’s a former liney of mine from my NCAA days.”

    Laller grinned down at Eric, towering over him in a way that probably would have dwarfed even Holster. He was distinctly missing several teeth, but seemed unbothered by it as he grinned at Eric.

    “You?” he asked, obviously pleased. “Bit tiny for NCAA, aren’t you?”

    “I managed,” Eric bristled. It had been a long time since he’d heard that old line, but it still stung a little.

    “Eric was one of the fastest in the league back then,” Jack said. “He could skate circles around you, and you’d never see him coming, Lalls.”

    Jack tipped Eric a hesitant smile. Eric returned it.

    “Thanks, Captain,” he said, recovering his good mood for just a moment. Jack laughed, letting his head hang for a moment and his smile was broader when he looked back up. It almost took Eric’s breath away to see - it had been a long time since he’d seen Jack Zimmermann smile like that.

    Laller dragged Jack away after another teasing round of apologies and chirps to Eric and Eric drifted back over to Sherry, who merely raised an eyebrow at him and asked him if he was ready to go. He agreed with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary, causing Sherry to shake her head in confusion at him. She made a few rounds to say goodbye to folks that she knew, but they were out the door quickly after that. Eric was grateful for the gulps of fresh air that hit him the moment they stepped outside the hotel into the brisk, winter air. He felt as though he had just put his finger in an electrical socket and lived to tell the tale.  

  


_/ _/ _/ _/

  
  


    Eric supervised free skates on the ice twice a day at Reynolds now that he was assistant manager. They were usually loud, boisterous affairs with people of all levels skating in barely orderly fashion around the rink. He usually cruised around the middle of the rink, sometimes skating alongside customers and sometimes helping people up. It was fun and loud and often the best part of the day.

    Jack Zimmermann’s sudden, unannounced arrival one day about a week later was enough to send everyone into quiet whispers. Eric, in the middle of the ice with a whistle around his neck, was a sitting duck. Jack gave him a small, sheepish wave as he leaned over the gate, snug in a beanie and pullover sweater. Eric glared at a few teenage girls who had stopped to stare at Jack and were holding up traffic, waving them on before gliding over to where Jack stood on the other side of the gate.

    “Sorry, I didn’t realize it would be so busy,” Jack said as soon as Eric reached him.

    “Free skates usually are,” Eric said.

    “Right,” Jack said, looking around them as if he had forgotten such a thing even existed. He probably had, Eric thought, he’d spent so many years on dedicated hockey ice by now that he didn’t remember what it was like to share.

    “How did you know where to find me?” Eric asked, a little bit annoyed. “Shitty tell you?”

    “No,” Jack said quickly. “I...well, I looked you up after the party.”

    “You googled me?” Eric asked. He gave Jack an incredulous look and Jack frowned. “You could have called.”

    “I didn’t think you’d answer,” Jack said.

    “You could’ve asked Shitty.”

    “He wouldn’t have told me.”

    “So you googled.”

    “Actually, I tried to find your Twitter first,” Jack said. It was Eric’s turn to frown.

    “Oh,” he said. “That old thing. I deactivated it a while ago.”

    “Yeah,” Jack said. “I noticed. I...uh - found your class schedule instead.”

    “Are you here for a reason, Jack?” Eric sighed.

    “I wanted...I hoped that maybe we could talk again? Over dinner?” he asked it so quietly that Eric almost didn’t hear him over the crowd noise. Eric cast a look around, but most people had gone back to minding their own business by now after it was clear that Jack wasn’t there to sign autographs or skate amongst the masses.

    “I’m not finished here until 7:30,” Eric said. He wasn’t sure himself whether he meant it as a yes or a no.

    “I can wait,” Jack said, quickly taking the opening before Eric could decide.

    “If you’re going to, you’re gonna have to do it somewhere that’s not on the ice or in the bleachers,” Eric said.  “I’ve got a bunch of ninnies in my beginners’ class who won’t be able to stop fawning over you if you stay.”

    “I can do that,” Jack said softly. “There’s a Starbucks right down the street, eh? I’ll be there.”

    Eric gave a curt nod and skated back to center ice. By the time he looked back over, Jack had gone. It made Eric feel a little dazed. If he had been in the right frame of mind, he would have told Jack to go fuck off, but the truth was, he had been off-kilter ever since the party and was liable to agree to just about anything Jack suggested at the moment. He thought about calling Lardo or maybe even his mother in the short 15 minute break he had between free skate and his lesson, but didn’t. He just sat on the bench and contemplated Jack Zimmermann, waiting in a Starbucks down the street for him to arrive. (How long would he wait if Eric didn’t come at 7:30? Would he call then?)

    Eric was distracted and irritable throughout his lesson, but his students took it all without complaint. It was rare for Eric to be in a bad mood, so it still scared them when he was. Today, it suited him just fine. He made them practice their stops repeatedly and then worked on speed exercises for the rest of the hour. He let them all out early, but lingered in his office until well after 7:30, smoothing his hair down in the mirror and trading out his sweater and skates for a heavier rain jacket and boots. It was nearly 8 by the time he walked into Starbucks.

    Jack didn’t notice him right away, which gave Eric a moment to collect himself. Jack was in a high-backed chair in the far corner of the shop reading a book, a small cup of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Eric approached slowly and Jack, catching his movement, looked up and gave him the briefest of smiles. His eyes still drooped downwards and his mouth turned into frown, but it was softer around the edges than the last time he had seen it.

    “Hey,” Eric said softly. He didn’t sit down, but hovered awkwardly next to Jack. Jack stared up at him, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was there, which made Eric feel even more awkward.

    “Hey,” Jack said, finally. He made no move to get up, but he closed his book in his hands and leaned forward. He continued to look up at Eric, taking him all in, until Eric cleared his throat and tilted his head to the side in question.

    “Hungry?” he asked.

    This seemed to stir Jack at last.

    “Oh, yeah,” Jack said and stood hastily. He threw his cup into the trash and then paused, looking back to Eric. “Did you want to get...uh, one of your pumpkin drinks before we go?”

    Eric smiled, in spite of himself, letting out a small snort of laughter.

    “I’ll survive without one,” he said, with a huff for dramatic effect. “But it’ll be a close call. We should definitely eat something soon to make up for it.”

    Jack smiled tentatively and Eric did his best to smile back.

    They left Eric’s car in the parking lot of Reynolds and climbed into Jack’s truck, the same one he’d had back at Samwell. Eric ran his hand along the hardwood panel of the door after he got in, remembering all the other times he had ridden in this truck.

    “Did you drive it all the way out here?” he asked.

    Jack looked a little sheepish.

    “Yeah, in late August,” he said, tapping on the steering wheel. “I stopped at a few national parks along the way, saw a few monuments, it was fun.”

    Eric bit back a fond smile, sneaking a glance at Jack as he drove. It could have been 5 years ago, for all the familiarity the moment lent him. He looked out the window, letting the gray skies and the still only vaguely familiar skyline in the distance remind him that they were in Seattle and not Massachusetts. He wondered again if he should text Lardo and let her talk him out of whatever it was he was about to do, but he didn’t. He just kept looking out the window instead.

    Jack pulled up to a small mom-and-pop Italian place on the outskirts of Ballard. It wasn’t too far away from the rink, but Eric had never been there before. His first apartment, shared with three others, had been in Ballard, but he’d moved on to quieter neighborhoods since then. The restaurant had a small Pride flag in the window, which wasn’t unusual in Seattle but still made Eric’s heart squeeze every time he saw it. Sometimes he felt like he would never outgrow the fear that Georgia had put in him.

    “Is this okay?” Jack ventured after a moment too long of hesitation from Eric about getting out of the car. “I looked it up on Yelp.”

    “What?” Eric asked, blinking at him. “Of course.”

    He scrambled out of the car and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. Jack opened the door of the restaurant for him and Eric was almost immediately enveloped by warmth and noise. It was busy and loud inside, clearly a popular place, but the bored hostess gestured them to a table without any wait. She shoved menus on their table and left them there without so much as a smile.

    “It’s been three years and I’m still not used to that,” Eric muttered as she walked away. Jack’s mouth quirked as he handed Eric one of the menus.

    Conversation was halting after that - Eric filling in the gaps with long, chattering monologues that he would abruptly end and Jack being Jack, sparkling conversationalist that he was. It made Eric remember how fiercely he missed Jack. It also made him wish he hadn’t agreed to come at all, but it was far too late for that.

    After dinner was over, the waitress’s pointed glare eventually forced them to cede their table. Eric felt vaguely disappointed as they pulled their coats on and prepared to leave. Then, when Jack grabbed the door, his hand brushed against the small of Eric’s back for fleeting second before moving away again and Eric felt that same shock of electricity that had consumed him after the charity gala for days.

    They walked out to the tiny, cramped parking lot together, but Jack didn’t go to the driver’s side immediately. Instead he leaned one shoulder up against the side of the truck and frowned down at Eric as Eric hugged himself from the sudden cold. Eric watched as a couple of college-aged kids loudly traipsed down the sidewalk and around the corner, following them with his eyes instead of looking at Jack.

    “Bits,” Jack said finally and Eric jerked his eyes upwards to meet his. Jack’s face was tortured, one hand extended as though he were about to reach out for Eric, but had changed his mind.

    Eric licked his lips and forcibly let out a breath before sucking one back in again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Jack now that he was looking. Jack was leaning up against his truck, all muscle and dark, brooding intent and Eric’s heart ached for it.

    “I would have done anything for you, y’know?” Eric said.

    Jack didn’t flinch, but kept looking at Eric steadily.

    “I know,” he said, when Eric didn’t continue immediately. Eric swallowed, looking away. He felt dangerously close to tears.

    “We would have been happy,” Eric said, kicking at the tire next to him. “I would have been fine being your secret and we could have been together.”

    Jack was silent, his face pulled into a frown. Eric wanted to grab him by the shoulder and shake an answer out of him, but instead he let his own shoulders sag. He kicked the tire again for good measure and pressed his mouth into a firm line.

    “I can’t --” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “I _won’t_ be your dirty little secret, Jack.”

    “I know,” Jack said and Eric was pleased at the fissure of frustration in his otherwise even tone. “I didn’t ask you to be. I never have.”

    “Jack,” Eric said and he could hear the tears in his voice despite his best efforts. “Why are we here?”

    Jack looked just as miserable as Eric felt, which was less comforting than it should have been. Eric was tired of this crushing, all-encompassing heaviness that he felt for Jack. He had been tired of it years ago and he’d been so sure that he’d left it all behind in Samwell. It didn’t feel fair that Jack Zimmermann was back, breaking his heart all over again with his stupid, blue eyes and perfect face.

    “Bits,” Jack sighed, waving his hands to the side and then dropping them heavily. “Nothing is ever right anymore.”

    Eric’s throat felt swollen shut. He stuffed his hands forcibly into his pockets and rocked back on his heels as they stood there together. Jack slumped against his truck.

    “Please don’t say things like that,” Eric managed after a long moment. Jack closed his eyes and his lips moved as though he were counting. Eric remembered the gesture from years before - a grounding technique of Jack’s for when things were overwhelming for him. His eyes slid back open and locked with Eric’s.  

    The moment felt like a bowstring pulled too tight between them, ready to snap. Jack’s eyes were a dark, pleading blue that hooked at something in the pit of Eric’s stomach and wouldn’t let go. He wasn’t sure which of them moved first or if maybe they moved at the same time, but one moment they were standing a foot apart staring and the next Eric was pressed against Jack, kissing him desperately as Jack’s hands gripped him closer. They broke apart, panting heavily and Eric cast a look around the dark parking lot, but no one else was there. He knew that no one would look twice at two men making out in this part of town or at least not long enough to recognize Jack, but years of living in the closet still made him anxious about any public display. He took a step back out of Jack’s arms and straightened himself out.

    “We can’t do this here,” Eric said.

    Jack looked dazed, his pale skin flushed from the cold and being kissed. Eric wasn’t sure how long he could go on not kissing him when he looked like that, public parking lot be damned. He stuffed his hands back into his coat and met Jack’s gaze. Jack seemed to find whatever answer he needed in Eric’s face.

    “My apartment isn’t far,” he said.

    “Okay,” Eric agreed.

  


_/ _/ _/ _/

  


    Eric woke sometime in the middle of the night, too warm and trapped under a large arm. He blinked blearily up at the ceiling for a long moment before he remembered where he was. Jack was asleep next to him. Eric shifted on his side to take in the sight of Jack, naked and beautiful in the soft light that leaked in from the drawn curtains. Jack breathed deeply beside him, undisturbed.

    Eric reached out to trace a finger along the broad slope of Jack’s shoulder, dipping down across the plane of his chest to rest on his heart. Jack’s breath hitched for just a moment, as if he might wake up, but then he rolled over and away from Eric instead. Eric let his eyes roam over Jack’s back for a few moments longer before pressing a light kiss there and then sliding himself from the bed. He grabbed his clothes from off the floor as quietly as possible. His wallet and phone were still tucked safely in his jeans’ pocket, thankfully, so when he dragged his bundle of clothes out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, he had all of his things accounted for.

    The clock on the microwave said it was nearly 3 AM. His phone battery was hovering around 10%, but it was enough to call an Uber. It would be a hellish price tag for the ride back to Reynolds and his car, but Eric could think of worse things. He thought briefly of calling Mollie, knowing that she would have come and got him despite the hour, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself to anyone and Mollie was the type of friend who always needed an explanation. He sat on the stairwell outside and waited for the Uber instead.

    He made it home sometime around 4 AM and set an alarm to call in sick the next morning - there was no way he was going anywhere except his bed when he woke up. He planned on sleeping until possibly the morning after next or maybe just never waking up at all. His whole body ached in a familiar, delicious kind of way that was an unavoidable reminder of exactly what he was trying to avoid thinking about. He didn’t even have a hangover to blame the whole thing on because he and Jack hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol between them. He threw himself into bed fully clothed and after jamming his charger into his dead phone, he fell asleep.

    It was hours before his phone woke him up, buzzing loudly on the bedside table. At first, Eric was confused when the alarm didn’t snooze properly, but when he blinked at the phone, he realized it was too early for his alarm still. It was Jack.

    “Hey,” he answered, voice still thick with sleep.

    “Hey,” Jack exhaled on the other end. “You left.”

    “I left,” Eric echoed, still too tired to think that clearly. It occurred to him that he should have left a note or texted, instead of just slipping out. Of course Jack would be worried. “I’m sorry.”

    He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for or even if he needed to.

    “Don’t be,” Jack said.

    “ _Jack_ ,” Eric sighed, rolling onto his back and unplugging his phone from the wall. He closed his eyes, but then all he could see was Jack’s bare chest and his own fingers pressed against Jack’s heart. He felt a little like crying, but didn’t. Jack was still breathing on the other end of the phone, steady and even. It reminded him of a hundred other phone calls that they had shared years before and then he really did feel a single, hot tear escape down his face.

    “Are you home?” Jack asked. Eric wondered if he was still in bed, in the same spot where Eric had left him, but then he thought it was too late in the morning for Jack to still be in bed. He would probably be leaving for his morning run soon.

    “Yes,” Eric said instead of asking.

    “Okay,” Jack exhaled again. “Go back to sleep, Bits.”

    “Mmm,” Eric agreed, letting his eyes slide closed. Jack hung up after another long moment, his breath hitching right before he did as though he were going to say something more, but then the line went dead instead. Eric let the phone fall from his hand to the pillow beside him and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears, but it was useless. They were well and truly flowing by then, thick and hot and ugly, and he would just have to let them fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter snuck up on me and then took ages to write and re-write, so I hope it turned out well! Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Part Three

Going home for Christmas had not really been in Eric’s plans, but since he no longer worked at the bakery, he found his schedule significantly more flexible. He hadn’t been home in over two years because he could never get enough time off to really make it work, but his new position at the rink gave him plenty of opportunity. He had control of everyone else’s schedules after all. To make up for abandoning them all to do Christmas free skate alone, he left three pies in the employee break room before catching a flight to Atlanta two days before Christmas. 

The Atlanta airport was a nightmare, but to be fair, Eric held a significant grudge against it which he had recently been reminded of. The only thing he liked about the Atlanta airport was that all of their TVs were blissfully free of hockey. Georgia had football to worry about instead. Hockey (and by extension, Jack Zimmermann) was the farthest thing from anyone else’s mind, which meant that Eric could stew in peace.

He had dodged texts for almost two weeks after Jack had shown up at the Reynolds, but they had finally petered off sometime around Thanksgiving. Eric had been grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could withstand too many more requests for a breakfast meet-up before giving in to Jack. He felt like he needed to get his head in order before seeing Jack again and had meant to text him eventually, but weeks had turned into a month and then all of a sudden it was nearly Christmas. 

It was late Christmas night and Eric was cozy and warm under a pile of blankets on the couch when he finally got up the courage to talk to his mother about Jack. Coach had gone upstairs after the game had wrapped up about half an hour before, leaving Suzanne and Eric to watch a Christmas-themed Lifetime movie without him. 

“Mama?” he asked. 

“Yes, Dicky?” she hummed, looking up from her knitting over her glasses at him. He felt 15 years old again all of a sudden instead of 25. He ran his hand along the blanket’s edge, smoothing it down methodically as he tried to think of the right way to ask. He cleared his throat, but when the words still wouldn’t come, he was horrified to feel the sting of tears instead. 

“I -” His voice cracked and he slapped a hand to cover his eyes. He heard Suzanne shift and a moment later she was beside him on the couch, gently shoving his legs aside so she could sit next to him and envelop him in her arms. 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been so mopey since you got here?” she said, planting a kiss into his hair. Eric pulled himself out of her embrace and wiped furiously at his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he apologized, almost automatically. 

“Dicky, that’s not what I was after and you know it,” she said. She stood, picking up the blankets that had fallen to the ground and neatly folding them onto the back of the couch. “C’mon, let’s take this into the kitchen.”

Eric wrinkled his nose.

“It’s too late to start something,” he said. “We’ve got church in the morning.”

She poked him in the side and he moved away instinctively, just far enough so that she could grab the last blanket he had tucked under him and yank it free. He yelped and slid unceremoniously off the couch onto the floor. He shot her a dirty look before getting up and rubbing his butt where he’d fallen, but made his way obediently to the kitchen.

Eric started pulling out bowls and the stand mixer while Suzanne bustled around the pantry and hummed to herself. She plopped flour on the table and then pulled out the brown sugar. She stood, hands on hips, in the pantry for another minute longer before Eric ventured to suggest banana bread. She snapped her fingers.

“That’s where I was going,” she said. “I just got lost there for a moment.”

He smiled at her and grabbed some of the riper bananas from their hook on the counter. She pushed the butter dish over and grabbed eggs from the fridge. She stuffed four of them in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Here, warm those up, little kangaroo,” she said. Eric cracked a grin. It was a childhood endearment that he hadn’t heard in years. He hugged the eggs gently to his body heat, rolling them around in his hands. Suzanne pulled a few measuring cups out of the drawer and then started thumbing through her recipe rolodex before plucking the banana bread one out. Although Eric had converted Suzanne to Pinterest years ago for recipe-pinning, she had never given up her rolodex, carefully hand writing recipes out that she found online. It was “family tradition” to hand down recipes, she always said, and she couldn’t very well do that on a Pinterest board that she shared with the world.

Suzanne started to ration out flour while Eric set up the stand mixer with the right paddles and they fell into a comfortable, silent rhythm together as they prepared the ingredients. After a few more minutes, Eric took the slightly less cold eggs out for his mother’s inspection. They were still cool to the touch, but she looked to the clock and then pursed her lips.

“They’ll have to do for tonight,” she sighed. “Just remind me not to take this batch into church in the morning.”

Eric rolled his eyes.

“Of course, Mama,” he agreed. She hip-checked him gently for his tone and he held up his hands in defeat, stepping away from the counter as she took over the stand mixer from him and started dumping in the first of the ingredients. 

He leaned against the counter next to her and handed ingredients to her before she could ask him. They had always been a great team in the kitchen and even years apart wouldn’t change that. He hung onto that thought for a moment before his thoughts twisted back to Jack and him in a the Haus kitchen all those years ago. His heart twinged uncomfortably in his chest. Suzanne fixed him with her most knowing look and he sighed.

“I thought that after all this time,” he said, picking at the string of his hood. “That...I don’t know. I would be over him? I imagined seeing him again so many times and I thought I had it all figured out, but nothing was right when it really happened and I think now it’s actually worse because I know that I still love him so much.”

“So this  _ is  _ about Jack, then,” Suzanne said, mostly to herself. Eric couldn’t help but notice that she tapped the spatula against the mixing bowl a little more forcefully than necessary. He sank back against the counter. 

“It’s just...everytime I see him all of my good sense just flies right of the window and all I can think about is how much I miss him instead of how badly he hurt me and then later, when I’m alone again, it all comes rushing back and it’s worse than before.”

“Oh, honey,” Suzanne sighed. 

“I...I did something stupid a few weeks back. He showed up at the rink and we went out to dinner and well…” Eric trailed off. He didn’t mean to share that part, but it had just come tumbling out anyways. Suzanne barely blinked, still efficiently adding the last of the flour to the stand mixer and supervising as it folded together. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

Suzanne gave him a sharp look. 

“Now, who ever said that?” she asked, shutting the mixer off.

“No one,” he said. “But I am. I should be able to keep myself together around him and just...say no, but it’s like my brain goes haywire the second I see him.”

“Moomaw would say ‘the heart wants what it wants,” Suzanne said, one eyebrow raised at Eric. He tilted his head in agreement, but then couldn’t resist rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.

“What if your heart’s a goddamn idiot?” Eric muttered.

“Eric Richard Bittle, I did not raise you to use that kind of language in my kitchen,” she said, hands on hips. “Now get that pan greased and start pouring batter.”

Eric sighed and then under his mother’s watchful gaze sprayed the pans and poured them each half-full of batter. She took a spatula and smoothed down the surfaces of each pan before waving at Eric to open the oven. He did and she slid each pan carefully in, positioning them side by side. Eric grabbed the timer from the counter and twisted it around to set it.

“So what do you think I should do about him?” Eric asked.

“Dicky,” Suzanne sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do. I do think that you were awful young when he broke your heart and I reckon that you’ve both grown a lot in the meantime. It’s been three years since you moved out there, baby, but it feels like you’ve just gone and got all adult when I wasn’t looking. I bet he’s done a bit of growing too.”

It was the most generous thing Suzanne had said about Jack Zimmermann in years. Eric’s brow furrowed as he watched her place the mixing bowl in the sink and turn on the water to start rinsing it out. He picked at the peeling surface of the counter, chipping away at a bald spot. 

“I’m scared, Mama,” he said quietly, not looking up from the counter. “I don’t want to go through all of that again.”

She shut off the sink and wiped her hands carefully on a hand towel before turning around and wrapping him in a hug. He let his head fall on her shoulder and ran a hand through his hair before patting him gently on the back and straightening him up, squaring his shoulders with a gentle push of her hands as she stepped back. 

“Lord knows I would love to say that you should never talk to that boy again after what he did to you,” she said. “But call me a romantic, I think there’s a reason he came back into your life after all this time. I think if you don’t give him a second chance now, you might always wonder what would have happened if you did and I don’t want that hanging over your head for the rest of your life, baby.”

“Thanks, Mama,” he said, sniffing a bit so he wouldn’t cry.

“That said, I will wring your neck if you don’t make sure that boy apologizes up and down to you for what he put you through,” she said.

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

  
  


**[ FROM: LARDO ]**

**[ TO: ERIC ]**

 

_ hey we’re coming up for nye _

  
  


**[ FROM: ERIC ]**

**[ TO: LARDO ]**

 

_ really???? _

  
  


**[ FROM: LARDO ]**

**[ TO: ERIC ]**

 

_ :kiss emoji: _

  
  
  


**[ FROM: ERIC ]**

**[ TO: LARDO ]**

 

_ can’t wait :kiss emoji: _

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

Lardo and Shitty arrived early on New Years’ Eve for an extended brunch that was followed by a trip to the neighborhood liquor store to buy several bottles of champagne. Eric was expected at his co-worker Mollie’s house party that night and Lardo was going to come with him while Shitty headed to Jack’s. Eric wasn’t sure Shitty needed the three 6-packs of beer that he added to their cart for a night that was supposedly just going to be him and Jack, but he also didn’t want to know differently so he didn’t ask. 

After an early dinner and minimal pleading with them to come with him, they dropped Shitty off at Jack’s apartment and Lardo returned to Eric’s apartment with him. They both set about getting ready for the party, Beyonce blaring through the apartment and Lardo pouring out shots with the tiny flask of rum she had stowed away.

Later, he wasn’t sure if it was the rum or the music that reminded him of the Haus or just Lardo herself, being there and ready to listen, but Eric told Lardo everything that night, in stops and starts as she applied her winged eyeliner and he chose the perfect bowtie for his new plaid buttondown. He started with the graduation kiss, but then kept backtracking further and further into his sophomore year to other incidents with Jack. The time he insisted on buying Eric fro-yo, the jacket on the rooftop, sitting too close at Annie’s - every time Eric thought of one, there was another on the tip of his tongue, until Lardo urged him to get on with the story. Then, he told her about the summer of texts and Skype calls that was abruptly cut short by Jack when he had missed his flight, leaving Eric alone and wondering in Atlanta. And then, everything that came after that.

“Jesus Christ,” Lardo muttered. “I’m going to kill him. I’m probably going to kill you too.”

Eric laughed, a little wetly, because he was crying by then. It felt liberating to say all of it out loud to someone who wasn’t his mother. To someone who also knew Jack and had seen it play out even if she didn’t know what she was seeing at the time.

“I always knew something like this had happened between you two back then,” Lardo said. “But I didn’t know -”

“No one did,” Eric said. “We never exactly agreed to not tell anyone, but well...it was better if we didn’t.”

“Bits,” Lardo said. “You shouldn’t have had to keep it all to yourself.”

“At first, it was because I thought he would change his mind,” Eric admitted quietly. He leaned his head on Lardo’s shoulder and sniffed. They had collapsed on the couch together at some point and never gotten back up. “I spent all Fall of Junior year trying to convince him that it would be okay to try, but he...just shut down when I came around and wouldn’t even look at me anymore. Lord, I think I almost failed every single one of my classes that semester because I was so busy pining after him.”

“I remember,” Lardo said drily. 

“It was a really bad year,” Eric said.

“Understatement,” Lardo said. “We were all really worried about you, Bits.”

“I survived,” he said.

“You did,” she said. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Bits.” She gave him a long-suffering sigh as she ruffled his recently coiffed hair. “I have had the unasked-for privilege of seeing both sides of this story play out. It’s been a fucking trainwreck from day one. He was miserable. You were miserable. He still is miserable. You were doing fine until you got another look at his stupid mug a few months back and now you’re right back in Misery Town too.”

Eric opened his mouth to protest, but Lardo slapped one of her hands over his mouth so he couldn’t speak. 

“You two have got to talk to each other,” Lardo said. “And I mean really talk - not have dinner and then fuck each other’s brains out.”

“I did  _ not _ tell you about that,” Eric protested, muffled by her hand. 

Lardo shrugged, unaffected. She patted his cheek before hopping up from the couch and grabbing another bottle of champagne from the fridge. She rifled through his cabinets for a moment before emerging with two mason jars. 

“I have wine glasses,” Eric said, but Lardo waved him off.

“The vessel is not important,” she said as she came back over to the couch and set everything down. She immediately got to work on unwrapping the foil on the champagne bottle and had it uncorked in record time. 

“This champagne was supposed to be for Mollie’s party,” he reminded her.

Lardo shrugged, pouring him a full glass and sliding it over to him.

“You should let her know we’re not gonna make it,” she said, taking a big gulp of her own champagne and then making a face at it as though it had offended her. 

“Champagne isn’t really for chugging,” Eric said. Lardo glared sideways at him as he took a more moderate sip of his own. “Why aren’t we going to Mollie’s? I never thought I’d see the day when Larissa Duan wanted to skip a party.”

Lardo took another too-big gulp of her champagne and then put it aside with a small burp. She thumped herself on the chest and Eric snorted at her.

“Do you actually want to go or do you want to sit on the couch and get schwasted on champagne with me while we sort out your life?” Lardo asked.

Eric paused, playing with the glass in his hand. Lardo had poured way too much into his glass and it was going to get warm long before he could finish it off. 

“I guess you’re right,” he decided. 

Lardo nodded to herself as though it were obvious.

Eric took a long drink of his champagne and fiddled with the remote until the Food Network started playing softly in the background. It was way too early for any of the countdown specials yet, but there were plenty of other options. Eric flicked around until finally returning to the Food Network - he’d seen the episode before, but it wasn’t a bad one.

“Did Jack really tell you that we ‘fucked each others’ brains out’?” Eric asked, using air quotes disbelievingly. 

Lardo smirked.

“No,” she said. “He just said you had dinner.”

“Then how did you - ?” Eric sputtered a bit. 

“I didn’t,” she said. “But, bro, now I do.”

“Lardo,” he groaned, his head falling into his hands. 

“Sorry, Bits, it was low-hanging fruit,” she said. “Plus, I bet Shitty $10 that Jack did something stupid that night. I think that qualifies.”

“Sleeping with me was stupid?” Eric asked.

“Sleeping with you before he fucking apologized on his knees for everything he put you through was stupid,” she corrected. “He could have fucked everything up even worse. Lucky for him, you’re still completely gone on him.”

Eric groaned again.

“I think it is fucked up,” he said. “I never say what I want to around him. I get all muddy and confused. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to be completely gone on him. I want to get over it.”

“You should make a list,” Lardo said, rifling through the stacks of things under the coffee table before pulling out a menu flyer and flipping it over to the blank side. She grabbed a pen and held it out it to Eric. “Of all of the things Jack needs to apologize for before you kiss him again.”

“What if I don’t wanna kiss him again?” 

Lardo rolled her eyes and pushed the pen more forcefully into his hand.

“I don’t think - “ Eric started.

“You don’t have to actually give it to him,” Lardo insisted. “Just make it so you have it for reference. Or put it on flashcards for the next time you see him, so you can make a proper speech.”

“Don’t make fun of my flashcards,” Eric pouted, but took the pen from her, contemplating the neon green page in front of him. He wrote carefully, in big block letters: THINGS TO SAY TO JACK.

“Number one should be ‘you’re an ass’,” Lardo suggested. 

“Larissa Duan,” Eric scolded.

“What? He responds best to direct and honest statements.”

Eric considered this and wrote it down. Lardo smirked. 

“Number two?” he asked.

“Nuh uh, bro,” Lardo said. “I made my contribution.”

 

_/ _/ _/ _/

 

Three hours later and they were both well into the champagne they had bought for Mollie’s house party. They were sprawled on the couch, watching the Countdown Special on TV and leaning against each other in drunken affection. 

There were still almost an hour to midnight in Seattle, but the time difference meant that the ball in New York had dropped two hours before and they were watching their second re-run of the festivities. Eric thought it was probably overkill, but Lardo seemed to be enjoying herself as the hosts bantered inanely back and forth.

“I want to tell him,” Eric said suddenly, not taking his eyes away from the television. “All that stuff I wrote down. I want to say it to him.”

Lardo was quiet for a long moment, but then Eric heard her set the heavy bottle of champagne she’d been drinking directly from down on the coffee table.

“You should,” she said. “It can be your New Year’s thing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna do it. Tomorrow morning when we go pick Shitty up.”

“Yeah?” Lardo asked and then when Eric turned to look at her, she frowned. “Shit. You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s leaving for a roadie tomorrow morning,” she said. “He’ll probably already be gone.”

“Well, damn.”

“You can do it tonight.”

“Tonight?” he squeaked. “I -  _ no _ , I’m drunk. You’re drunk. How would we even get there?”

“Bits, c’mon, I’m already calling the Uber.”

They were in the back of a stranger’s Dodge before Eric could really process what was happening. The neon green take-out menu was clutched in his hands, advertising free crab rangoon with any purchase of $20 from a place around the corner. He folded it neatly into his coat pocket while Lardo was furiously texting beside him, probably to Shitty.

As they pulled up to Jack’s quiet, upscale apartment complex, Eric’s stomach dropped to the floor. He felt sick and it had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he’d been drinking.

“I think this a bad idea. We should just go home,” Eric said, not opening his door. Lardo rolled her eyes at him and shoved him to get out. He got out of the car and it drove slowly away, but his feet felt as though they had been cast in concrete. Lardo came up beside him and looped an arm through his. “I don’t think I can actually do this.”

“You can,” she said.

“What if he doesn’t care?” Eric asked raspily. The tears were already crowding at the backs of his eyes. It wasn’t fair how much of a crier he was; it put him a disadvantage when it came to this sort of thing. 

“He does.” Lardo squeezed his arm tightly. “You’ll see.”

She frog-stepped him up the stairs and then when he hesitated at the door, she knocked for him. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath as Jack answered the door. His palms felt suddenly very sweaty at the sight of Jack in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Eric was still in his nice slacks and buttondown that he’d meant for Mollie’s party, although he’d ditched the bowtie before they’d dashed out to the Uber, at least. 

“Um, what - ?” Jack stumbled, in obvious shock at the sight of them at his door.

“Company!” Shitty yelled, coming up behind Jack and forcing him to open the door a little wider. “Thank God, this professional athlete over here had been begging me to let him go to bed for hours now and I thought I would have to ring in the New Year alone after all.” 

Eric cleared his throat and stepped over the threshold, taking his coat off uninvited and folding it over the back of one of the chairs. He could feel Jack’s eyes on him before he turned around, so he steeled him and fished the menu out of his pocket. He cleared his throat again and nodded to himself before spinning on his heel.

“I have something to say to you,” Eric said, pointing at Jack. Jack was wide-eyed and a little rumpled from the late hour, but seemed to be at rapt attention. “And you’re going to just listen, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed almost instantly.

“And you,” Eric said, turning to Shitty who was gleefully gaping at both of them. “You are going to go wait outside while I say it.”

“Bitty,” Shitty whined. Jack frowned over at him and Lardo tugged on his arm to pull him back towards the door.

“C’mon, we’re gonna take a walk around the block,” she said. “See you later, Zimmermann.”

“Leave, Shits,” Jack said when Shitty looked as though he were going to say something more. Shitty sighed, running a hand along his moustache before clapping Eric on the shoulder and going outside with Lardo. Eric waited until he heard the door click closed again before taking a deep breath and looking at Jack. He unfolded and smoothed out the menu carefully in his hands. Jack was still standing in the hallway, staring intently at Eric where he stood across the room. 

“Sit,” Eric said and then a beat later, he added, “Please.”

Jack sat on the couch, but didn’t break eye contact. Eric looked down at the menu, but his eyes refused to focus on the list. He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them, he felt much steadier.

“Okay,” Eric said, mostly to himself. He knew Jack could probably see his hands shaking so he lowered the list to his side and took a deep breath. “First of all, you broke my heart five years ago and you were a total ass about it and I still haven’t forgiven you despite what happened last month.”

Jack’s face was impassive and Eric, a little flustered, consulted his list, breathing out through his nose a little too hard.

“Second, the worst thing you did when you broke up with me was that you didn’t consider any alternatives - you just forged ahead with what you thought was best and didn’t ask me what I thought or consider how we might have solved it together.” Eric looked up from the list to see Jack, brow furrowed, leaning forward in stern concentration. It was a look usually reserved for pre-game strategy.  Eric momentarily forgot his list. “And, Jack, for the record, I still think we could have done it together. We could have made it work and if you weren’t willing to even try, why would you kiss me in the first place and spend the whole summer talking so sweet to me and...No, I’m sorry, this isn’t where I was supposed to be going.”

Eric covered his eyes with a hand while he got himself together, willing the tears to go back where they came from and wiping a few away before they could roll down his face. 

“Bits -” Jack started, but when Eric held up a finger to stop him, he stopped immediately. After another moment, Eric was able to let his other hand drop away from his face with a long sniff and he consulted his list again. Eric read it three times over as Jack waited in silence for him. 

“Third,” Eric said and paused, meeting Jack’s eyes. Jack sank back into the couch, looking miserable, but gestured for Eric to continue. “You were my best friend at Samwell and it really fucking hurt when you decided we couldn’t see each other any more and I hate you for taking that away from me if you weren’t absolutely sure that you wanted a relationship with me.

“Fourth, when you didn’t show up in Atlanta and you didn’t call or text all day, I had no idea what was happening. You could have been dead for all I knew. It was the worst day of my entire life and you owed me more than that.

“Fifth, you can’t just show up at my  _ place of work  _ unannounced from now on. If you want to see me, you need to call or text and ask me. Don’t ambush me like that again.”

Jack inhaled sharply as though he were going to say something to that point, but Eric glared at him and he stayed quiet. Eric looked down at the list he’d written but he had read everything he’d intended to. He read it once more to be sure and then nodded to himself. 

“Alright, I’m done,” Eric announced, the list crumpling a bit in his clenched fingers. Jack nodded and sat forward again, licking his lips to say something and then stopping. He looked up at Eric for what might been permission to speak and Eric nodded.

“Okay,” Jack said at length.

Eric blinked at him.

“Okay?” he repeated incredulously. “Jack, I’m going to need more from you than that.”

Jack clasped his hands tightly together as though in prayer and Eric watched as his throat bobbed visibly several times before he finally cleared it. Eric twisted the paper in his hands, the edges tearing in his fingers, until Jack looked up again, his face naked in its vulnerability. 

“You’re right,” Jack said. “About everything.”

Eric’s legs felt suddenly very unsteady and he dropped himself onto the couch before he fell down. The couch was long enough that he was still a good arm length’s away from Jack. Jack turned towards him, shifting his leg up onto the couch so he could face Eric and look directly into his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Bits,” Jack said, slowly, deliberately. “I was scared and I let it cloud my judgment. I understand if you don’t want to see me again. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off and sighed, pinching his nose. Eric’s throat was tight with the promise of tears. 

“It’s just...being here and seeing you again,” Jack said, looking up again. “I’m sorry, Eric, a thousand times over. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you and I know I did.”

Eric’s head was swimming from the thoughts that were pinging rapidly around his head (and possibly, he admitted privately, too much champagne before he’d come upstairs). He leaned his head against the side of the couch and focused on breathing until his head felt a little more manageable. When he opened his eyes, Jack was looking at him, but darted his glance away as soon as their eyes met. It made Eric feel broken inside and tears threatened again.

“I have to go,” Eric said, surprising even himself. His body stood up from the couch mechanically and he grabbed his coat from the back of chair where he’d taken it off, pulling it on. He walked over to the door and paused, hand on doorknob, and looked back to Jack. When he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he said, “Good luck on your games this week.”

  
  


_/ _/ _/ _/

  
  


Later that week at work, Mollie cornered him about missing her New Year’s party just as Eric’s class released. She skated onto the ice and looped a big circle around him. Her blonde hair was pulled into its customary messy bun and she was bundled up in a light pink pullover, making her look like a too-short Barbie doll in a Northface fleece. 

“I’ve been contemplating your punishment for missing my party all week,” she announced without saying hello. Eric snorted in laughter at the playful smirk on her face. Mollie was by far his favorite co-worker, no doubt down to her own Southern roots. Although she was from Florida which would traditionally mean he would hate her on principle, here in Seattle, she was a comrade-in-arms instead of an enemy. (He would probably never tell Coach he had befriended a Gators fan, though.)

“I’ll accept your decision with grace,” Eric said, starting the lap around the rink with her. She was a natural skater with a certain grace that made everything she did look effortless. She had come up through the circuit a few years after Eric had and he’d always been a little sad he hadn’t seen her perform when she was in her prime. A broken ankle had all but ended her Olympic dreams at 17. Now, she scraped together a living coaching the intermediate and advanced figure skating classes at Reynolds and doing private sessions for a few of the more advanced girls. 

“This Saturday night,” she said. “I’m having a girl’s night out with Cindy and Emma. Sherry was supposed to come, but is pulling the ‘married’ card, so you’re taking her ticket.”

“Her ticket?” Eric asked.

“To the Schooners game,” she said, as if he should have already known. Eric almost tripped over his own skates. “Cindy won them on the radio.”

“Hockey?” he asked dumbly.

“Eric,” Mollie said, looking at him as he were crazy. He felt a little crazy in that moment. “I know you like hockey. You can’t get out of this. Plus, you promised to take your punishment with grace like .2 seconds ago.”

“Alright, fine,” he said. “What time should I be at your house?”

“Four,” she said. “And bring the champagne I knew you’re hoarding from New Year’s.”

Eric laughed and agreed, skating off to finish up his other duties for the day.

  
  


_/ _/ _/ _/

  
  


“What a fantastic game,” Mollie exclaimed, throwing her arms around Eric and Cindy and pulling them into her. Eric felt a little claustrophobic in her embrace, but didn’t pull away. It  _ had _ been a good game and he was feeling exhilarated too. It had been a while since he’d seen a Schooners game, live or on TV, and Jack had really found his rhythm with his new line. 

It was almost magical to see him on ice, which was why a moment later when Mollie declared that she wanted a drink, Eric didn’t hesitate when he said, “I know a place nearby.”

He hadn’t heard from Jack since his drunken confrontation with him on New Year’s. Eric had almost called several times, but couldn’t bring himself to hit call or if he did, he hung up before it could connect. He didn’t blame Jack for not calling him, but he wished he would. The Schooners had just gotten back in town yesterday night and Eric had been hoping for a call then, but there was still radio silence. When he texted Lardo about it, she didn’t have anything to relay. Apparently Jack hadn’t even talked to Shitty about what Eric had said to him and had claimed “it was between the two of them”. It was all frustratingly vague. Eric hadn’t known quite what he wanted from Jack after reading that list to him, but it was more than what he’d gotten so far. 

When they got to the bar, Eric didn’t order a drink under the pretense of offering to assume designated driver duties. The girls were more than happy to let him have his way, giggling and laughing through their drinks. They were all a few years younger than Eric and most days it didn’t matter, but that night, it was particularly grating. Eric watched the door for Jack, but after almost an hour of waiting, he was beginning to think that Jack wouldn’t make an appearance after all. Maybe he’d gone out to a different bar with his teammates or he’d just gone home. 

But then, right when Eric was about to suggest that they go home, there Jack was, pouring in the door behind three other teammates that Eric also recognized. He caught his breath just as the girls also saw the hockey players and fell into conspiratorial whispers.

“Hey Eric,” Mollie said. “Don’t you like  _ know _ Jack Zimmermann? You played with him in college, right?” 

“Yeah,” he said, not offering any more information. The girls giggled at this, finding it funny for some unknown reason.

Eric was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away until he knew that Jack had noticed him. It took a few minutes for Jack to take a sweep of the room, but when he did, his gaze caught on Eric almost immediately. Eric almost sprang out of his seat, but kept himself sitting through sheer self-control. He pointed down at his phone and Jack seemed to get the message, fishing his own out of his pocket and waving it to Eric before a teammate pulled his attention away. 

Eric typed quickly.

 

**[ FROM: ERIC ]**

**[ TO: JACK ]**

 

_ Outside? _

  
  


The reply was slower - Jack had been pulled into a round of cheers with the other players and had to put the phone down. Eric watched as he read the message, his eyes darting back over to where Eric was still watching him and he typed out a response which dinged to Eric’s phone a moment later.

**[ FROM: JACK ]**

**[ TO: ERIC]**

 

_ 5 min. _

 

Eric waited until he saw Jack slip outside as if he were taking a phone call until he excused himself to go to the bathroom. He slid into the bathroom for a few minutes, checking his hair in the mirror before heading purposefully outside.

“You’re here,” Jack said from behind him as soon as Eric walked outside. Jack was half in shadow under the light hanging over the door and Eric was struck by how beautiful he looked. It always seemed to take him by surprise when he hadn’t seen Jack in a while. 

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. Jack’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, but Eric was close enough to catch it. It set his heart fluttering with hope. “C’mon, let’s get out of the way.” 

Eric led the way around the corner to a dark alley occupied only by two dumpsters. It had started to drizzle lightly around them and Eric wished he’d thought to grab his jacket but it would have looked suspicious if he had. Instead, he crossed his arms around himself and hugged. 

“You’re here,” Jack repeated, sounding unsure of himself all of a sudden. His face was hard to read in the dim light so Eric stepped a little closer still to make out his small frown. He remembered the feeling of wanting to trace it away at the party last month, but he clenched his hands close to his body instead.

“You already said that,” Eric said gently. 

“Yeah,” Jack said.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Old country music was playing tinnily behind them, seeping into the alley from the back door of the bar and Eric thought he might have recognized Johnny Cash, but his guess was about as good as Jack’s might have been for a pop song. 

“I wanted to wait until I was home to talk to you again,” Jack said, startling Eric out of his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and you, I’ve been thinking about you.  _ Crisse _ . I wrote out what I needed to say, but I don’t…”

Eric unwound his arms from himself and reached out to touch Jack gently on his arm, letting his palm cradle Jack’s elbow. Jack licked his lips, looking lost and smaller than Eric knew him to be. 

“Do you think you could paraphrase?” Eric asked. 

Jack paused and then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was enough to send Eric’s heart hammering so loudly he thought he might have trouble hearing. Jack’s voice was hardly more than a murmur when he did finally speak, but his eyes were clear and honest as they bored into Eric’s and it would have been impossible for him to miss any part of it.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said simply and when Eric’s brow furrowed at his pause, he plunged onwards in a hurried breath.  “And if I have to spend the rest of my life apologizing for hurting you like that, I will. I didn’t consider your feelings or include you in the decision and you deserved better at every turn.”

Eric was getting cold and more than a little wet out in the rain, but it hardly registered until a small shiver ran through him. Jack noticed too and slid off his jacket to offer to Eric, which Eric took gratefully although he knew he should have probably refused it. 

“Go on,” Eric said as soon as he had pulled the jacket onto his arms. 

“I chose hockey over you,” Jack said and even hearing the words out loud felt a little like a slap in the face after all this time. “I thought I couldn’t be happy without hockey.”

Eric nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels a little bit. 

“Eric,” Jack said to get him to look back up. When Eric did, Jack’s face was determined as though he were about to execute a particularly difficult play. Eric wanted to kiss him badly, but he also wanted Jack to finish saying everything he needed to say. 

Jack crowded a little closer to him, his arms coming to rest on Eric’s hips so gently that they were almost not even there. Eric let his face fall forward on Jack’s chest, leaning into the near embrace. 

“Bits,” Jack voice cracked. “I had it backwards and it took me so long to see it. I’m sorry. It’s so obvious now that you were the reason I was so happy.”

Eric was wracked by a sob, tears already sliding onto Jack’s shirt, and Jack, reacting to Eric’s tears, tightened his arms suddenly around him, holding him close. Eric let his own arms come up around Jack and hugged him even tighter. Jack’s head slotted on top of his as Eric cried, but neither of them let go after Eric sniffled his way to a stop. 

“Bits?” Jack ventured finally. 

“Yeah?” Eric said, voice still muffled in Jack’s shirt. He looked up at Jack and disentangled himself from the embrace, running a hand through his hair to straighten it out. He felt electric and very, very tired, all at the same time. 

“I don’t want to live without you anymore,” Jack said. “That was maybe the first thing I wrote down. I meant to say that first.”

Eric almost started crying again, but instead he cast a quick look around to make sure they will still alone and then stretched up to kiss Jack softly, his fingers tracing Jack’s jaw. It was over almost as soon as it started. Eric knew this wasn’t the place, with his friends and Jack’s teammates inside waiting for them, probably already noticing their absence. 

“What now?” Jack asked, his voice nearing a whisper.

“We should go back inside,” Eric said and then seeing Jack’s face fall a bit, he added. “Then, I was thinking we could have lunch after your morning skate tomorrow. Start small.”

“Oh,” Jack exhaled. “Right. Small.”

“Jack,” Eric said, shrugging his coat off and folding it neatly. “Thank you. For...saying all that.”

“I meant it,” Jack said quickly.

“I know you did,” Eric said. “It’s just - I needed to hear it.”

They drifted back towards the door and Jack took his coat back before Eric pushed the door open and shook as much rain as he could out of his damp hair.

“So, lunch tomorrow?” Jack asked before they went their separate ways.

“I’ll text you,” Eric promised. 

  
  
  


_/ _/ _/ _/  EPILOGUE _/ _/ _/ _/

  
  
  


“Hey you,” Eric said. He slid the porch door closed behind him. “You’re gonna miss the fireworks hiding out back here.”

Jack looked over to him and smiled, a small, secret smile, before he scooted over to make room for Eric on the porch swing. Eric curled up beside him, resting his head on Jack’s shoulder and sighing in contentment. 

“I love summer in Madison,” he said, reveling in the warm summer air and gentle chirping of insects all around them. Even the lightning bugs had made an appearance that night. Jack swung an arm around him and nuzzled his lips into Eric’s hair, sending a pleasant shiver through him. 

“It’s nice,” Jack agreed. “It suits you.”

Eric laughed and swatted at Jack’s arm.

“You just like seeing me in shorts, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“That’s true,” Jack said. He smiled at Eric and leaned in for a kiss. 

“C’mon, I meant it,” Eric said, hopping up and grabbing Jack’s hand. “You can’t see the fireworks from the back porch and Coach said we could take his truck out to the Miller’s back pasture.”

Eric drove them up the road and took the dirt road out to the back of Miller’s property while Jack sat shotgun and teased Eric about being able to reach the pedals properly. The sun was just setting, throwing a brilliant orange and pink across the sky as it sank down and the crack of fireworks could already be heard as Eric parked the truck underneath the overhang of a large tree. 

Jack climbed up into the bed of the truck and spread out the blankets neatly while Eric grabbed them two beers from a small cooler. He settled in next to Jack and pointed over to the eastern corner of the pasture where the Miller boys would probably be most likely to set off their fireworks. 

Jack popped open his beer and Eric followed suit.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping Jack’s beer gently. 

“Cheers,” Jack said. He was quiet for a long moment, watching the sky around them, but then he said quietly, “I have good news.”

“Yeah?” Eric asked. 

“Everything’s final. I’ll be in Seattle again this year.”

Eric exhaled loudly and set his beer aside so he could tackle Jack in a hug.

“You played that awful close to the chest, Jack,” he said.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure,” Jack said. “But I talked to Bill today.”

Eric grinned at him. Fireworks crackled behind them and Jack’s face was lit by a purple flare in the sky. He was smiling, one hand resting on Eric’s hip, rubbing circles there and Eric thought that he had never been more in love.

“There’s something else,” Jack said. “I asked again about coming out.”

Eric froze, but when he saw Jack was still relaxed and smiling, he let himself relax too. Jack had come out to his team months ago and Eric regularly attended games with the wives and girlfriends, but the Schooners had been reluctant to let it get any more public than that. It had chafed at Jack, but it had mostly been out of his control if he wanted to keep his contract.

“They still don’t want a statement being made or anything, but Bill said that the rest of the owners agreed that if it comes up in an interview, they don’t expect me to deny it or hide any longer.”

“Jack, that’s…” Eric said, his brain rapidly processing what that meant. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yes,” Jack said, without hesitating. “I’m tired of not holding your hand in public and only kissing you when we’re home. I want more.”

“Your contract ends next year,” Eric pointed out. “It might be okay in Seattle, but what about where we go next?”

Jack grabbed both of his hands and kissed them, still smiling. 

“As long as you’re okay with it, I want to do it,” Jack said. 

“Jack, of course,” Eric said. “It’s your career, not mine.”

“It’ll be about you, too,” Jack said. “There will be a lot of attention probably.”

Eric shrugged and pulled Jack in for a hug.

“I know,” he said. “I’m in if you are.”

“I’m in,” Jack said. He was punctuated by a rapid-fire staccato of explosions overhead that burst into green and gold sparks all around them. Jack pulled Eric close and kissed him deeply. 

“I thought about this, you know,” Jack murmured against his hair. “What this would have been like, all those years ago. Fourth of July in Madison with you.”

Eric sighed and melted against him.

“Probably a lot like this,” he said softly. “Maybe less beer. More kissing, but only in secret ‘cause my parents wouldn’t have known yet.”

Jack’s fingers threaded through his hair and gently combed it. They watched as the fireworks exploded in the air all around them and drank their beer in relative silence, content to just be close to one another. 

“Thank you,” Jack said after a long pause in the fireworks indicated that they were over. Eric wrapped his arms a little tighter around Jack and kissed the edge of his chin, making Jack smile down at him. “For letting me come with you.”

“I love you, Jack,” Eric said. “I’m glad you finally made it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. 
> 
> (yay!!)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts - I really love hearing from y'all :)


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